Beyond the Veil -- COMPLETE

_______________________________________________


Updated 2-26-08


Thank you all for the thoughtful reviews. I do hope that by the end of the story all your questions will be answered to your satisfaction.


One question answered:

Damiana - I think remembering how to have sex after being incarcerated for years is more “like riding a bike”, but in Lucius’ case I think it will be more like flying a jet-powered broomstick with all rockets firing.


Shez – I fixed my genteel problem. Thank you!


Hugs to the lurkers who have become reviewers!

Now, the story...


_______________________________________________

Chapter Six


Shelter

Lucius used his walking stick to pound on the portal. Soon the door opened and a wizened old woman with a sour face looked them up and down assessing what they were worth before asking them, “Well, what d’ye want? I’m at me supper.” She must have decided they were at least worth speaking to, but she held the door so they couldn’t go past her.

“We are interested in the vacant room that your sign advertises. I’d like to see it if you will take us to it.” Lucius drew himself up, looking down his nose at the old woman and his manner and speech impressed her enough to crack open the door a bit more.

“I’ll see yer coin first,” she said, eyeing them with more interest, casting a crafty, knowing smile in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione was suddenly aware that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and hoped her gloves were so thick that no one would be able to discern the omission. She didn’t know what the morés of the times were, but she didn’t want to be thought a light-skirt. Hermione blinked at the term as the meaning flowed into her mind. A harlot. Spooky. She’d have to tell Lucius about the strange vocabulary she was amassing.

“Not acceptable,” Lucius sneered, “you’ll see my money when and if we like the room.” He waited, exuding centuries of haughty self-confidence, his eyes flashing with ill-concealed impatience. His hand grasped his walking stick more firmly, drawing the old woman’s gaze to the potential threat of his temper.

Despite her initial reluctance, the old woman now ruminated on letting the couple in, calculating how much she could ask for the room. They were probably new to town and had nowhere else to stay if they were asking about the room at this time of day. They would likely pay more than necessary to have a roof over their heads before night, but they were an odd pair she thought, what with him talking and acting like the king himself. His clothing didn’t match his accent. The little female, however, looked very proper and well-behaved and comely. She would keep her eye on them; he looked like trouble, but his little tart was very young and fresh-looking. Hermione’s looks decided the old landlady on allowing the pair entrance to her boardinghouse.

The landlady garnered up a saccharine smile, saying, “Right up them stairs two flights, then first door on yer right. It comes with the furniture, but that costs extra. Ye don’t have none o’ yer own I fancy.”

Lucius looked down his nose at the old bitch, intoning in arctic accents, “Our furniture is coming after us. We’ll only need your room for a short time.” He walked past her as though she no longer existed, ascending the stairs as though he were indeed the king.

“I don’t serve no meals if ye were thinkin’ that came wiv the price o’ the room,” she called up the stairs after the proud, disdainful man.

Hermione gave the woman a weak smile and followed her partner up the worn stairs. She would have to give Lucius a hint, preferably right between those pale eyes with his walking stick, that he needed to make a more humble impression on the citizens. She shook her head; that was going to be as easy as trying to keep a hippogriff from flying. That man was a born ruler; she’d rather help Sisyphus roll his boulder uphill than attempt the futility of explaining to Lucius that he had to tone down his lord and master routine. Did he really think he was keeping a low profile in this unlovely new world they’d literally landed in? He was such an arrogant arse sometimes.

Lucius waited for Hermione to come up beside him, then he opened the door to the room that the old woman had indicated was available. A mild wash of old urine and stale sweat wafted out of the closed up room, wrinkling both their noses in distaste.

“Ewww, it smells like someone used the room for a chamber pot.” Hermione put her hand over her nose to lessen the foul stench. “Hey,” she said in a low tone, “I used the word chamber pot. Why did I do that? Why didn’t I call it a loo?” She frowned, trying to remember something her tired mind wasn’t processing, then it came to her, “You called the money you got a ‘roll of soft’ and ‘coin’. And you called me a bluestocking earlier. And I was worried that old biddy would think me a light skirt. We’re both starting to use the vernacular of the times. And I don’t think we’ve acquired it from listening to others.” Hermione shivered with a frightening, new thought, “Are we slowly being sucked into this time and will we lose our memories of our own time? I don’t want to lose my memories, no matter how upset they make me.”

Lucius pulled the little witch into the room and closed the door, growling into her ear, “I wonder if they still burn witches at the stake? I’m about ready to offer you up as a test case if you ever start talking about ‘our time’ in public again.” He shook her lightly for good measure.

“Oh, my,” Hermione said sarcastically, “I’m sure I’ll draw soooo much attention to us with my odd whispered comments. You can just tell anyone who asks that I’m a halfwit. I believe all women in this era are considered lackwits anyway. See? There I go again. I didn’t even know the word lackwit before it came out of my mouth.”

She advanced on her associate, stabbing him in the chest with an irate finger, “What, on the other hand, am I going to tell people who come up against your emperor of the universe act? Do you really think people dressed as you are stride around behaving as though they own a mansion and have millions of guineas in the bank?” Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sheesh, I’m going to have an entire, new vocabulary by this time next week if this keeps up at the current pace. What the hell is a guinea?” She glared at her vexed colleague. “YOU talk. I want to hear you say some nineteenth century words.”

“What would you like to hear your emperor of the universe say?” he sneered. “I’m not going to pretend to be a lowly clerk in some obscure shipping office just to keep attention away from us. Most people respond to confidence by giving you their respect. I don’t expect to be here very long anyway. I’m going to find a hell and make us some coin – I mean money.” Lucius primmed up his mouth, hoping Hermione hadn’t heard the old word for a low gambling establishment.

“Hell! You said a hell.” She beamed in wicked delight, “You’re affected as much as I am. Thank the Goddess. What’s a hell? Oh! It’s just come to me now. ”

“Yes,” he agreed, “the words seem to erupt first and then the definitions come to us as they’re needed, I believe. That’s what I’m experiencing anyway. These odd words bursting out without warning are rather disconcerting.” Lucius initially frowned in irritation - Hermione had analyzed their strange adjustments in language before he had. Then he relaxed with the knowledge that maybe she wouldn’t be the complete drain on his ingenuity he’d previously thought.

His petite sidekick looked around the room now that the smell was disappearing with familiarity. The room had one high-set double size bed covered in patched quilts and two wooden chairs with a small table between them near a dirt-encrusted window. A small bedside stepstool offered a way for Hermione to climb up into the old-fashioned four-poster.

The walls were covered in what had once been a rather lurid, floral wallpaper, now thankfully dulled with age. There were small tables doubling as nightstands and an old, low bureau with a bowl and pitcher on the surface. Several dead flies lay in the bottom of the bowl. A good-sized elderly mirror with its backing corroded away at the edges hung over the bureau. Probably for a man to shave with, thought Hermione. That wasn’t what was bothering her though.

“It’s cold in here,” Hermione observed, wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself.

“If we stay here, after we settle in you can warm up the room with your wand. I don’t want this place to be like an oven, however, as I don’t sleep well in a hot room. And we couldn’t explain why it was now toasty warm, seeing as how there’s no fireplace in here. I wonder why there’s no way to heat this room.” Lucius scrutinized the room more thoroughly, but no manner of heating was to be found. The wall a fireplace should have been on was devoid of anything but the faded wallpaper. Curious. Maybe the bedroom had been cut down from a larger room. Lucius didn’t like that niggling little detail, but they had little choice for the night.

“Where are you going to sleep?” she asked, fearing the answer.

Lucius merely looked at her witheringly, not deigning to answer the inane question.

“I don’t want to sleep with you!” Hermione glared.

“You don’t have to,” Lucius replied in disinterest, touching the top of the low bureau with his glove and coming away with a thick film of dust.

“Well…well then, uh…good!” That potential argument seemed to go better than she had hoped from the spoiled, aristocratic dark wizard.

“I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable if you slide those chairs together.” Lucius negligently waved at the wooden items. “You’re tiny enough to fit. You can even have one of those miserable excuses for pillows off the bed. I’ll only need one.” Lucius wandered over to the sole, extremely grimy window near the chairs in question, looking out to see what kind of view there was. And more importantly, what anyone outside might be able to see within the room if they decided to take it.

Lucius knew they would have to accept the room. It had grown darker and he didn’t want to drag the annoying little witch everywhere he went all evening. He would be able to protect himself easily, but having her along would not only make their situation dangerous, it would cramp his style completely. He could just see himself entering the local brothel with his little leech, trying to explain why she had to sit in the hall while he pounded away at the merchandise. He sighed. The semi in his trousers was becoming aggravating. Tight pantaloons bedamned! How did the men of this time period ever get away with having erections that the whole world wasn’t privy to?

“I think we have to take this room, for now. I’ll ward the door and window so no one can get in while I’m away. Do NOT leave the room. Do you understand?” Lucius strode over to the bed and looked under it. “There is a chamber pot here for emergencies. I suggest you make use of it if you need to. You can obliterate the waste afterwards with your wand. I’ll bring you some food and something to drink, then I’m going back out for the evening.” He strode back to stand over the small female, using his much greater height to intimidate her into following his instructions. “Do you understand? You’re much too quiet, Hermione. I don’t want to come back and find you’ve been molested in my absence.”

Lucius didn’t bother to wait for an answer, turning to shoot his wand at each piece of sorry furniture, one by one, ridding himself of the unwholesome dust and other piles of questionable debris in the corners. His years in prison hadn’t cured Lucius of his inclination for cleanliness. He’d actually been lucky to have a cell to himself where he had been grateful for what sanitation he was able to control.

Hermione was still stuck on the unpalatable idea of the two chairs as her bed. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted some food and sleep, hopefully in that order, although she couldn’t promise to stay awake if he took too long with the food. She gazed up at the tall, commanding wizard looming over her, understanding she either shared the bed with him or she was inconvenienced. She wearily supposed it wouldn’t do any good to call a Malfoy out for being ungentlemanly. It had never done any good with Draco. And Lucius’ nose was way too high to successfully get a good swing on it with her fist.

Hermione nearly sleepwalked over to the bed, chose the side with the stepstool, climbed up and slumped down on the faded, patched quilt. She ran her hands over a large darn and absently got out her wand.

Lucius strode over to her and yanked her wand from her hand. “I sincerely hope you weren’t planning on repairing the rents in that quilt.” He tucked her wand into his coat pocket as he stalked back over to the door, saying, “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Try to get some sleep, now that you’ve decided you can bear to share the bed with me.” His lips twisted in mockery and then he was gone.

Hermione was so tired she hadn’t even argued over him taking her wand. He was correct, she had been about to repair the patch. He had cleaned up the dust and debris! But she realized the two alterations were entirely different. One could be explained away; the other couldn’t. That insufferable man was starting to get on her nerves. Did he have to be so…so…damn, she hated it when he was right and made her feel like an idiot. She was just so dead-tired, she wasn’t thinking clearly any more. One engaging thought surfaced in her tired brain – he had taken her wand so now he would have to clean up the chamber pot if he didn’t like it soiled. Hermione removed her bonnet, took one bleary-eyed look at the door, hoping his ward would protect her and flopped back onto the bed, asleep almost before her disordered curls hit the dusty pillow. The chamber pot remained unused.

An hour later, Lucius returned, carrying a tankard of ale and a covered bowl of mutton stew he’d obtained from the tavern down the street that the slatternly tavern maid had talked about. He’d had to discreetly avoid her renewed attempts at grabbing his crotch, coming away with her noxious, cheap perfume overlaid with a month’s worth of sweat seeping into his coat. With his hands full he hadn’t been able to completely evade her draping her buxom chest all over his arm as she reached for his fast-wilting bulge. He had politely refused her offer once again, giving her a chuckle at his cultured voice and words. Her feelings were unaffected by the rebuff, but she was sorry to have lost the chance at that prime piece of cock on such a beautiful man.

Once clear of the tavern Lucius had had to stop and use his wand surreptitiously to remove the toxic odors, both for his own sanity and to keep from bringing the offensive smells home to his little comrade. Why he cared about not smelling like a whore’s armpit in front of Hermione bothered him, but he wrote it off as merely avoiding the unflattering remarks, which he was sure she’d make. His temper was on edge with having to be nice to the tavern wench to avoid too much notice in the district, and from his deflated possibility for the evening. He knew he was tired and decided to end the evening instead of trolling for a likely brothel.

When he got back to the room and unwarded it, he found Hermione deeply asleep lying on top of the covers, shoes and all. Her bonnet had fallen onto the scarred wooden floor near her lax hand, which was dangling over the side of the high bed.

Lucius iced over the stew and ale with a brief spell and placed them on the bureau by the washbasin, now free of fly carcasses. He picked up the bonnet, cleaned it with his wand and placed it likewise on the bureau, then lifted the limp little witch, opened the covers and settled her down on the thin sheet. After indulging himself in a resigned sigh, Lucius set about removing Hermione’s cloak, dress and shoes with a few waves of his wand, leaving her in her stockings and underwear. She was so fragile-looking lying there on the old sheet, he felt a wholly unwanted surge of protectiveness, his male shielding instinct coming to the fore at seeing her so helpless.

Lucius smiled to himself. If she got even a whiff of his momentary, surprising desire to take care of her because he saw her as helpless, he’d need to keep sharp objects away from her and watch his back. He paused for a moment, enjoying the sight of a very well-formed, if petite, feminine body wearing unexpectedly lacy underwear, and his libido made itself known in physical terms, tightening his already close-fitting trousers once again. He really needed a female soon.

Her delicate scent brought his obvious male reaction to full engorgement, causing Lucius to wish she weren’t so set against him. He didn’t know why she had that attitude, but it came across in countless ways from how she held herself when he was near, to suspicious glances, to her overt disinterest in him as a man, so much so that he thought maybe it wasn’t personal, but more his gender. Lucius used one finger to lazily trace the edges of her low-cut, pretty bra, very interested that she of the starchy ways should be wearing such wanton underwear. Maybe she wasn’t so far out of his reach after all.

He sighed at the waste, but covered the tiny sleeping female over with the quilts, put his disguised cane and his hat down with his handkerchief on the bureau, and walked to the other side of the bed. He removed his own clothing and, to prevent Hermione’s blushes, he created a pair of green silk shorts for her sake from his dingy pillowcase, climbing into them and placing his shabby clothing on one of the chairs. Lucius tucked himself into the bed with a groan of fatigued relief. Tomorrow night he’d try to track back to one of those brothels he’d noted. A last wave of his wand secured the door and window against intruders and he relaxed back on his side of the bed.

Lucius gazed sightlessly at the ceiling for a few moments. Tomorrow was another day. He was sure he’d have another erection to go with it. It was a shame that tonight’s had initially deflated when confronted by that blowsy maid. After a slight recovery when exposed to Hermione’s lovely body, his interest had flagged once more; even slipping into bed with the warm, young female wasn’t sufficient to sustain his desire. The tired wizard turned over on his stomach and settled for sleep. He’d had two bowls of the stew and two ales at the tavern and that combined with the long day he’d also put in sufficed to send him gently into the arms of Morpheus rather than between the legs of Aphrodite, where he had planned to be.

tbc...

_______________________________________________
_______________________________________________


I hope you will review. They do mean a lot to me. I'm already adding to the story based on some comments. 8-)
.
.